


Comfort

by nothingisreal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingisreal/pseuds/nothingisreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t realise it at first, but looking back, it seemed that Mycroft had been expecting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language. No beta.

The relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft had never been an easy one. Not that they argued a lot. They didn’t spend enough time together to get into any serious quarrels. Each of them did his own thing. The only time they really got a chance to socialise was during family reunions, sometimes during dinners.

Still, it was enough for Sherlock to notice that Mycroft’s intelligence was far superior to others’, including Sherlock himself, as Mycroft kindly reminded him at every other opportunity he got. So Sherlock made it his goal to be better than Mycroft at something – anything. So he started spending all his time learning new skills and improving those he already had.

In the end it was all worth it. Sherlock regretted nothing. He cherished the sleepless nights and days without eating, which drove his mother to despair. If he had to choose only one memory he could keep, it would be Mycroft’s face after Sherlock corrected him on his deductions. Mycroft was shocked, but in his eyes there was pride. Sherlock couldn’t understand it, but it made him feel… valuable, appreciated? He honestly couldn’t explain.

It was around that time that Mycroft left for university. The only time Sherlock saw him was during Christmas breaks and holidays. But Mycroft seemed content to spend what little time he had with Sherlock. They would sit in one of their bedrooms. Sherlock liked listening to Mycroft’s stories, but he enjoyed asking questions more. He got his brother to talk about chemistry and biology despite Mycroft’s rather inauspicious relationship with both those subjects.

When Sherlock was 14, Mycroft disappeared completely for almost two years. There were no letters, no phone calls. Sherlock knew that Mycroft was abroad – somewhere in Russia if he remembered correctly. Why, he had no idea, but it must have been something to do with his studies.

Years later, Sherlock could still recall the look in Mycroft’s eyes when he finally came home. He looked Sherlock up and down and startled. It was true that Sherlock had changed quite a lot in that time; he gained some seven inches in height, his shoulders were broader, what little baby fat he had transformed into muscles, and his voice dropped two octaves. Sherlock wished he knew what went through Mycroft’s head when he saw him that day. He asked Mycroft about it later, but all he got in response was a dismissive “you’ve changed.” Sherlock never asked again and Mycroft never offered to tell him. In fact, it became his best-guarded secret.

The drugs started in Sherlock’s last year at university. He was so bored, he felt like blowing something up. There was a party. He wasn’t interested, but he figured he might at least go to observe. Besides, he’d run out of cigarettes and he was sure somebody would share. And if they didn’t, he could always steal one.

He didn’t get any cigarettes, but somebody offered him drugs. That’s how it began. It ended three years later with Mycroft finding Sherlock barely conscious in his room. Apparently, Sherlock wouldn’t pick up the phone, and it got Mycroft worried. He made a pledge never to take drugs again in exchange for a chance to help Scotland Yard. He started off with a couple of cold cases, before it was decided he would be great help in solving current ones. And so he became the world’s only consulting detective.

He didn’t have any friends, but he didn’t need them. He was perfectly happy on his own. Or at least he would be if it wasn’t for the fact that the rent for an average flat in London was way too high for him to be able to afford it. Sure, he could ask his parents for some money, they had plenty of it, but that was so against his nature he refused to even consider it. That’s when John Watson came along.

He knew that Mycroft would do something to ensure Sherlock didn’t do anything stupid, he just wasn’t sure what it would be. So it didn’t come as a surprise that Mycroft tried to bribe John to spy on him. Still, he found it amusing how John assumed Mycroft was some sort of a criminal mastermind. And knowing Mycroft, he probably enjoyed it.

After Sherlock’s ‘suicide’, Mycroft was the one, who helped him the most. Although Sherlock would actually die rather than admit it. He knew he’d probably manage on his own if he had to, but it was so much more convenient to just step back and let Mycroft take care of everything. Getting rid of Moriarty’s network was exhausting, so he was glad to give up the control for a while.

One thing Sherlock didn’t expect was for John to have moved on. Possibly for the first time in his life, he felt abandoned and insignificant. Even with his underdeveloped awareness of social norms, he realised that John would spend most of the time with his new wife and their baby. Which would leave Sherlock all alone. He tried to convince himself he didn’t care, but never quite managed.

After John’s wedding, Sherlock needed comfort. He needed to feel like he was the most important person in somebody’s life. So he went to Mycroft. He didn’t realise it at first, but looking back, it seemed that Mycroft had been expecting him. It was almost midnight when he arrived, but Mycroft wasn’t asleep.

What’s more, Mycroft seemed to be timing his arrival. On the coffee table there was a teapot, two cups and some biscuits.

“Thought you didn’t like almonds,” Sherlock said after tasting one of them.

“I might have changed my mind,” Mycroft offered.

‘No you didn’t,’ Sherlock thought. If there was something Mycroft hated it was almonds. Sherlock clearly remembered that as a child, he would get all the almond biscuits and cakes, which were his favourite, for himself, because Mycroft wouldn’t even look at them.

It was an odd feeling, realising that Mycroft might know him better than Sherlock had given him credit for. Not only did Mycroft know him, apparently he also cared enough to cater for his whims. Sherlock decided he might as well stay the night. Mycroft had three bedrooms and Sherlock wouldn’t be surprised to find out that one of them had already been prepared for him.

So he toed off his shoes and threw himself onto Mycroft’s sofa, while his brother poured them both some tea. They didn’t say anything, Sherlock staring at the ceiling, trying to order his thoughts and Mycroft staring at Sherlock.

“Something’s off,” Sherlock said after some time. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I know that something’s not right about her.” He turned his head to gauge his brother’s reaction.

Mycroft looked as composed as ever, even if Sherlock caught a glimpse of worry in his eyes. “In what way?” He asked calmly, pouring himself another cup of tea.

“I’m not sure,” Sherlock said slowly, trying to pick out the situations which didn’t seem to fit into his picture of Mary. “It’s just… Sometimes she says or does things she shouldn’t. Do you know what I mean?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” answered Mycroft.

“How did she know it was a code?” Sherlock said more to himself than to Mycroft. “She shouldn’t have recognised it.”

He shook his head, trying to get rid of all the disturbing thoughts. “I’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “Eventually.”

He sat up straight and looked at Mycroft. “Interest me. Do something to take my mind off all this.”

He caught the sight of panic which flitted across Mycroft’s features and was suddenly reminded of Mycroft’s reaction when he returned from Russia. The last piece of puzzle fell into its place. It was comforting to have at least one of the mysteries, which had been bugging him, solved.

“Well…” Mycroft began, frantically searching for something to say. He knew Sherlock figured him out. It was almost as if a lightbulb had gone off above his brother’s head.

Sherlock silenced him with an impatient gesture. “It was so obvious,” he said, getting up. He felt invincible as if his whole life suddenly started making sense. And in a way it did.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft tried, unsuccessfully to get Sherlock to leave it.

“How could’ve I not notice it before?” He said, his back turned to Mycroft, who could feel his cheeks heating up. “It explains _everything_ ,” he turned around abruptly, grinning at his brother.

He was so damn proud of himself. It took Mycroft back to the first time Sherlock outsmarted him. Sherlock looked cheerful, as if he had no care in the world. Mary and John Watson had been forgotten, even if only for a little while. Mycroft was perfectly aware that in that moment he wouldn’t have it in him to deny his brother anything he asked for.

Still, the one thing he hadn’t expected was for Sherlock to lean in suddenly and kiss him.   

“Sherlock!” He protested, his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, come on, Mycroft!” Sherlock exclaimed, grinning madly. “We both know you’ve been thinking about it.”

Sherlock leant in to kiss him again, but the pressure of Mycroft’s hands on his shoulders stopped him. “What?”

“We shouldn’t,” Mycroft tried, aware of how pathetic and insincere it sounded.

“We shouldn’t do a lot of things, such as for example spy on people. Never stopped you before, has it?”

Mycroft tried to think of a clever response even if only half-heartedly. He knew Sherlock would just deny everything and the truth was that he didn’t really want to stop.

So he let Sherlock lean in, this time more slowly, and kiss him. Having made sure Mycroft wouldn’t push him away, Sherlock turned his attention to Mycroft’s shirt. He undid the top buttons, only enough to pull the shirt up, over Mycroft’s head. Mycroft gasped in surprise when he felt Sherlock’s fingers slipping down his chest, stopping to tease his nipples, towards his trousers.

Sherlock had never had sex before, of that Mycroft was sure. Despite this, there was no hesitation in his moves. He seemed to be relying on his instincts alone. And they rarely failed him.

“I want to suck you off,” Sherlock murmured, grasping the bulge in Mycroft’s trousers, making it hard for him to focus. “May I?”

“God,” was all Mycroft was capable of saying at that moment. His brain appeared to have melted at the image Sherlock provided him with.

Sherlock kissed him again, slipping his tongue between Mycroft’s parted lips. Mycroft grasped the back of Sherlock’s neck pulling him closer. He was aware of his trousers being unbuttoned and unzipped, before Sherlock shoved his hand between the wool and cotton. Mycroft wasn’t hard, not yet, but if Sherlock kept on like that, it wouldn’t take long.

Mycroft set to work on the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. He managed to undo two, before Sherlock jerked away impatiently, standing up. He tugged the shirt up, throwing it behind him as soon as he got it off.

Mycroft took in the newly exposed flesh. Those two years of hard work turned Sherlock from handsome into stunning. Mycroft could clearly see the quivering muscles in his abdomen. He let his eyes run lower down his brother’s body, feeling his cock twitch in his pants. He stopped at the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock timed his moves perfectly. As soon as Mycroft’s attention turned to his trousers, Sherlock hands were there, slowly undoing the button – teasing him.

By then, Mycroft was breathing hard, his hands clenching on his own thighs. He watched as Sherlock pulled the zipper down, slowly pulling his trousers down his legs, until he could step out of them. Mycroft felt as if all of his sanity had been taken away.

He let his eyes run back up Sherlock’s legs, let himself notice the wet patch on his brothers underwear. Sherlock hesitated only a second, before quickly shoving his Y-fronts down, exposing himself to Mycroft.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered wantonly, trying to compose himself and not just fuck his brother senselessly. “Come here.”

Sherlock complied almost immediately, slipping to his knees in front of Mycroft. Sherlock paused for a moment, but one look at Mycroft’s face was enough to reassure him. He quickly got rid of the rest of Mycroft’s clothing.

Sherlock’s fingers closed around Mycroft’s erection tugging experimentally. Mycroft’s head hit the back of his armchair when he felt Sherlock’s lips on him. He seemed to be testing the water, trying to see what Mycroft liked. Not that there was much Mycroft didn’t like in that moment. It took all his self-control not to just tangle his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and fuck his mouth roughly.

He didn’t want to pressure Sherlock into anything, and, as it turned out, he didn’t have to. Soon enough Sherlock closed his lips around the head of Mycroft’s erection and slowly moved down.

“Fuck,” Mycroft heard himself mumbling, although he didn’t consciously plan to say anything. The feeling of Sherlock’s warm, wet mouth together with the thought that Mycroft was the first to know what it felt like was almost enough to make him lose it completely.

“Sherlock, please,” he wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Not that it mattered, anyway. But it prompted Sherlock to hum around his cock and Mycroft wasn’t able to stop himself from bucking up into the willing heat.

Sherlock pulled back a little, but the rhythm he had built up never faltered. His hands were on Mycroft’s thighs to keep him in place, as Sherlock sucked him off, making sure to take more of him in with each bob of his head.

One of Mycroft’s hands was in Sherlock’s hair, just resting there, feeling his every move.

“So good,” Mycroft moaned. He could feel his balls tightening and his thighs tremble. “Close.”

Sherlock knew the exact moment he should pull off, of that Mycroft was sure, but he didn’t. The thought of coming down his throat, of Sherlock swallowing around him wantonly was what pushed Mycroft over the edge. He gave one erratic thrust, feeling his muscles tense. And Sherlock just went on sucking him off until Mycroft was completely spent, lying lax against the cushion.

Sherlock sat back on his heels, grasping his own erection. His other hand travelled down to his balls, squeezing gently. Mycroft watched quietly as Sherlock brought himself off. His lips were parted, his cheeks had turned a dark shade of pink and he was breathing heavily, little cut-off moans escaping every now and then. There was some cum on Sherlock’s lips and chin and Mycroft felt himself shiver when Sherlock licked it off. It didn’t take long before Sherlock was thrusting into his own fist, spilling cum onto his thighs.

They remained still for what seemed like hours, before Sherlock moved suddenly. He snatched Mycroft’s shirt from where it’d been thrown on the floor and used it to wipe himself clean.

“Well, that was nice,” he said nonchalantly, getting up. “But next time we should do it somewhere more comfortable.”

And with that he left the room, leaving Mycroft stunned, before a smirk made its way onto his face. _Next time_.


End file.
